


When the Madness Stops

by xantissa



Series: Black Roses [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, year 2000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men that don’t want to face their desires and a sleepless strange night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Madness Stops

**Author's Note:**

> My second fic ever! Gah!  
> All my X-men stories are among the first ever written in English and the first ever posted online. Written around 1999 -2005. The standard of writting is not what it could be but no author has hatched perfectly formed. Still, someone might find it worth a look.

Click – click 

Click – click

The sound of the clock is going to drive him mad someday. He puts one hand behind his head and keeps staring at the ceiling in his dark room. It’s late, but he can’t sleep.  
Something deep inside him just refuses to let go, to rest. He lets go of his empathy a little, just to feel the others in the house.

Everyone is sleeping, except for that one person.

Wolverine.

His mind, always so different, unreadable to telepaths, so clear for empaths. There is intensity and power there. Power he was always drawn to. Like a moth to a flame. A self destroying, death wish that kept him scooting towards dangerous, strong individuals.

First Belle, then Essex, then Rogue. Now Logan. All strong, all individuals and all dangerous. 

This time however he refused to think about it. All those unconscious thoughts, unacknowledged desires … all that, left in the dark pit of his soul where it twisted, turned and boiled till his mind became a mess, and his body a shell full of tension and frustration.

He shook his head trying to get rid of that strange thought. He wasn’t going to brood. Not about his past. It was past and nothing he could do would change it. 

So he got up. He couldn’t sleep, the last mission replaying in his mind. Nothing really happened, just those little things, those dirty, smelly little alleys that he remembered still too vividly. 

The kid spent only a few months there, he was still pure, untouched by the evil of the street, but he, himself, hadn’t had so much luck. He knows every little dirty secret of the streets. Knows the pain, the humiliation, and the sacrifice of self-respect. Knows the pain of a still-childlike body torn by some faceless, nameless men. Knows the bitter taste in his mouth when he grabbed those disgusting banknotes and ran in spite of his aching body.

The mission was four days ago and he still couldn’t sleep. The vision-memories-nightmares of his childhood kept haunting him, depriving him of sleep, of that little peace he managed to find here. 

When he goes down the hallways he makes no sound. The only person that is able to actually hear him when he doesn’t want it, is Logan. Even Hank, with his also enhanced hearing usually doesn’t notice him.

All the years spent in The Thieves Guild did teach him something.

He enters the dark, quiet Rec room and sits on the couch. He turns the TV on and jumps through the channels untill he finds some cheap action movie. The nightmares still lingering at the edges of his mind and he hopes, that maybe, the television will lull them back into the part of his mind that is usually well-hidden and locked, even from him.

The film ends, and he finds another one. An old sci-fi. He isn’t really interested in it, but keeps focusing all of his attention on it. No space left for other thoughts.

* * *

He stands in the doorway, watching the thief. He smells sadness and something more on him. Nothing good. There is a profound sense of loneliness in the way that beautiful body half lies on the couch. 

Long limbs stretched in something like a controlled disorder. Beauty. Sadness. Loneliness. Strength.

He knows that the kid started smelling different since that mission. When they entered that sleazy part of town the thief’s scent changed. Became sharper, edged with something… painful. 

He knew the Cajun had nightmares, but was surprised to learn that they seemed even worse than his sometimes. 

He dreamt of physical pain, torture, the life the government took away from him. He screamed. While the thief only whimpered like a small, dying animal and smelled of such terror that he wanted to enter that always locked door and … and do something. Wake him, soothe him. Anything. 

But he never did. 

So now he was standing in the completely dark hallway and wondered how tired the kid must be if he hadn’t realized he was being watched. Usually, as if having a sixth sense, the Cajun always knew when he was observed. 

But not now.

He sat there, long auburn hair spilled over graceful, almost too delicate shoulders, one hand with delicate fingers resting loosely on the remote. One leg folded under him, other stretched under and at an angle that could be comfortable only to a person with the kid’s flexibility. Looking like some marble statue, caught in a moment of false relaxation, dressed only in a white tee and briefs.

A sudden feeling. Want. Need. Urge to protect. From what? The world. 

 

He has that cold, sickening feeling that the kid’s suffered enough. Usually a charming, annoying, self-centered charmer, but there were times, like this … when something in him broke and the mask slipped a little showing the real person behind it. A lonely, scared person with a heavy burden of his past. 

The clock shows two in the morning. 

Logan watches the kid watch the film. When it ends, only the smallest movement, one long, impossibly delicate finger pressing a button on the remote. Channels changing. Another film. The thief is so focused on it, as if his whole life depended on it, his mind and sanity.

And maybe, just maybe it is.

The clock shows 3:30 in the morning.

He decides he has watched enough. He moves, not trying to be silent and instead making sure he makes some noise, not to startle the kid. He doesn’t want to break him abruptly form this … something … this trance he’s in.

He stands just inches from the kid and waits. Waits for some kind of greeting, acknowledgement. Anything.

There is no reaction.

The thief keeps staring at the screen, not even noticing him. Or maybe he is, but decides not to react anyway.

So he sits beside the kid, their arms touching and his denim-clad knee brushing the bare one.

A shudder. 

A whisper of material against skin that sends tiny sparks up his leg and he stills. The kid doesn’t react, keeps watching the film.

So they sit like this together, but still apart watching some cheap movie. Each lost in his own thoughts. Close but so far away.

For the first time, and maybe if he was honest to himself not the very first, he notices the scent. The spicy, sensual, most arousing he has ever scented.

And he knows, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that on some level he was always aware of it. Always noticed the subtle changes, reactions … always watched.

He turns his gaze to the face beside him. Sharp cheekbones, nose and skin that seemed to be fine porcelain. White, delicate … so soft. His fingers itch to touch it. Check if what he sees, what he imagines, is how it would feel.

But keeps his hands still.

There is something different that keeps his attention. More than the skin. The hair. Usually in a ponytail, now hanging loose look like a fiery corona around his face. Small, delicate ears and those long, thin strands that keep always manage to escape, no matter how tight he pulls his hair back. Now surrounding his face like a halo.

And he doesn’t, can’t stop himself this time. Totally mesmerized by those loose strands of hair illuminated by the blue light coming off from the TV, he reaches out. Just to touch it with his fingertips.

 

A movement, a silence and a totally awkward, unpredicted moment when Remy moves his head, and instead of touching that soft looking hair, Logan’s fingers ended up resting on the slightly cold skin, a hairsbreadth from soft lips. 

Red on black eyes, strangely unreadable, staring right into his own. Everything seems to still, freeze in that one, undecided moment.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t read the expression in those alien eyes, nor can he smell the kid’s response to the touch. His senses fail him. He is left with a thousand questions and no answer. 

So he just waits. His heart is pounding and he simply waits for the kid to decide.

He expected to be pushed away, shoved back. He knew that Warren and everyone else thought of the kid was a slut but it wasn’t true. He did go to town often but he rarely smelled of someone when he came back. And Logan never caught the smell of a man on him.

The minutes pass and nothing happens. So he decides to make a move. This night is different. It causes him to think of things that he never thinks of. Causes him to feel what he doesn’t want to feel, to need. So he leans closer, carefully bends and touches those plush lips with his own rough ones. A chaste touch, not a kiss really. Just a brush of lips. A possibility.

And maybe, maybe if for the thief the night is as strange as for him, he won’t be pushed away.

Nothing happens. 

Red on black eyes stay open, watch him with unmoving focus. Just like he watched that damned TV a minute before. His lips not closed but not parted either. A face that shows nothing and it is unnerving for the Wolverine. He is always able to read people. Through their reactions, scents … all that they cannot control, no one could. But that kid in front of him, barely a man, shows nothing, leaving Logan lost and confused. Feeling like one of those mutant children they keep saving.

And somehow, in this awkward moment, Logan feels so much younger and inexperienced. Like he was barely 24 and that young man in front of him had centuries of life behind him.

Taking his chance he leans forward again and kisses the Cajun again, open-mouthed this time. Not sure about his action, if he is doing it right, if he even wants it. Just something inside that keeps forcing him to taste the thief.

A tongue licking those plush lips, tracing them, his fingers still touching the cheek a hairsbreadth from his mouth and he uses them. Traces the lips with his rough, callused fingertips along with the tongue. 

He uses them to push, to force the lips apart.

The first heady taste of the warmth just behind the bottom lip. He slides his tongue along the butter-soft flesh just between lower lip and teeth and groans a little, his head spinning from the sensation. 

Never had he been so aroused by only a kiss, the taste and scent alone. 

He feels unsure if his ministrations are welcome. All this time, the kid hadn’t reacted even once. Still, motionless, he didn’t respond or push Logan away.

Finally, a soft sigh, nothing more that a breath and the teeth part, letting his tongue inside. 

After a moment of hesitation he felt Remy answer him. The second tongue gliding against him. 

The moment he realizes Remy will not stop him, his hands start to roam along that beautiful, long body that seems so pliant underneath him. 

He feels the long fingers that always fascinated him so much, tangle into his dark, wiry hair and pull him closer. The first flick of his tongue like a flame along Logan’s lips.

He caught that clever tongue, biting gently, then pressed his way into that warm mouth. Remy moaned into him. His body shifted and suddenly Logan felt those incredibly sexy legs close around him, one bare foot caressing his thigh from behind.

He didn’t even notice he was kneeling in front of the kid. He didn’t know when he moved. The only thing he was aware of was that hot, wet, slick contact between their tongues and the sounds Remy made.

And he could hear his own, gentle growl. His arousal that pushed insistently against the denim of his pants. The scent … that finally gave the kid away.

Lust. Heat. Arousal. Spice.

He moans, himself, yielding to the thrust of that killed tongue. His hands found their way under the old tee and he couldn’t stop stroking that bare, incredibly soft skin, trail his fingertips down the shallow dip of his spine, following the inviting line with a surprising delicate touch. Tender even. And that brought him back to reality for a moment. 

Tenderness.

It wasn’t something he would do. He never did. Usually he took his lovers with fast, sometimes brutal force, desire and animal lust. He was feral and he usually made love the same way. Never did he behave like this.

Although he felt Remy’s desire for him, he was still unsure, hesitant. As if he held something very precious in his hands and was afraid of breaking it.

* * *

Remy feels the sudden change of mood. He didn’t realize he dropped his shields until now, the emotions coursing through him making him dizzy. They aren’t his. He doesn’t really want to know what Logan is feeling. 

Long ago he learned that lesson. You don’t always want to know what your lover is thinking, let alone feels. Too many times used, deceived by a promise of affection or real feeling.

He breaks the kiss and trails one hand down Logan’s chest, to his taut stomach. He presses it there, just to feel those powerful muscles moving, shifting, rippling under his touch. He feels good when he hears the short, raged breath that comes from the Wolverine. 

He grins and slides his hand lower. To that hard bulge and squeezes. 

He watches Logan close his eyes and throw his head back. He leans closer and fastens his mouth to that warm, delicate skin just beneath the ear and sucks hard, all the time massaging that hard member trapped in denim. He can feel the desire that is coming off Logan and it’s spiking his own. 

He wishes, just for a moment that Logan didn’t have that healing factor of his. So that the mark he was so desperately trying to do, would last longer than a few hours. Frustrated he bites at the delicate skin, breaking it and is afraid for one moment that he went too far, crossed the invisible line, that he would be shoved away but all he gets in response is a shudder and a moan and, what is amazing, swell of that had cock he is still rubbing.

He can feel Logan is close to orgasm and he’s surprised. He never suspected the feral man would be so sensitive to touch, so responsive. He takes the hand away, moving it to that fabulous chest, massaging tight muscles and whispers: 

“Mabbe we should take it upstairs? Dis place … too public.”

He almost feels Logan composing himself and suddenly, with a predatory grace, Logan is up and pulls Remy to his feel as well. 

There is an awkward moment when they just stare at each other, aware that there were no words, no … explanation for all this. In a matter of minutes they went from colleagues to … what? Lovers? Fuck-buddies? 

But then the moment is over and he is leading Logan to his bedroom. He can feel the man’s eyes on him all the way upstairs and through the corridors. Eyes watching him so closely he can almost feel it physically.

He is surprised that Logan follows him at all, that the feral mutant trusts him enough to do so. He can’t remember ever seeing Logan so … pliant … before.

When he opens the door he hesitates for a brief moment and turns around to look into hazel eyes, full of lust and secrets. This is the last chance to back off. 

They stare at each other, feeling the need, desire pulsing in their veins and there is no hesitation in Logan when he pushes Remy inside.

Remy watches Logan stand in the middle of the room. He wasn’t going to waste time. He started stripping before Remy closed the door.

He stood, his back to the door, trying to control his breath, trying not to show what watching that compact, impossibly strong body does to him. He turns the lock, just to make sure no one will interrupt and comes closer to the already naked man.

He can’t stop staring at all those bulging muscles. His own body is muscular but not like this. The hidden power behind that flesh mesmerizes him. And he is aware of Logan’s complete and utter comfort. The man wasn’t ashamed to stand completely naked in front of a dressed man, his cock hard and dark. 

He casts a glance at the bed but decides that it is better that Logan stands. He leans to kiss the shorter man, his body roaming that hairy skin, hot like a furnace. Soon he positions himself behind Logan. He never liked what he was going to do now, but this time he actually wanted to do it for someone. 

He kisses the exposed neck, warm, wet sucking kisses that trail down Logan’s spine. Sometimes soft, sometimes hard – biting kisses that make the other man moan and shudder in anticipation.

Finally he is on his knees. One hand sneaks around to grip that rigid erection. The other parts the hard globes. He can feel Logan tense at the touch. His empathy picks up on desire, lust, curiosity and apprehension all at once. 

He starts murmuring soft, reassuring words in Cajun. It didn’t matter what he said. Just the sound of his voice. His hands started stroking the iron hard shaft. Logan was big, huge even. The very thought of having him inside making him shudder but he knows it wouldn’t be today. It was too soon, too much. It couldn’t happen. 

But maybe, if he did it good enough for Logan it would happen again. He doesn’t want to think about the “why’s” of his desire to have Logan for more than one night. 

The night is dark, strange and intoxicating. No use in destroying the mood with unnecessary questions. 

He feels Logan relax, start to thrust into the hand that massages him just a little to lightly. Hears the grunts of need. He parts the cheeks one more and this time Logan doesn’t tense. He flattens his tongue as much as possible and licks along the cleft with one long movement.

Logan nearly howls. His whole body arches into the unexpected, wet touch and his hips buck.

Remy resumes his actions. Slowly he changes the movements of his hand, now teasing the slit with his thumb and massaging the big vein on the underside while he keeps licking and nibbling at Logan buttocks, nearer with every movement to that puckered hole. 

At the first touch of his tongue, Logan’s knees nearly give up. Remy concentrated on the ring of muscles, massaging it with his tongue, letting his hand roam over Logan’s abdomen, stroking his cock only occasionally, touching his balls and tangling his fingers in that incredibly soft hair of his.

He got the other man so caught up that the opening gave hardly any resistance when he pushed his tongue as deep as he could. He could hear a curse and a whispered:

“Remy!”

And then he moved his tongue. Licking, massaging, driving Logan mad with want. If it was possible his cock became even harder. He wanted to stroke it, to come but couldn’t. and Remy knew that. He deliberately positioned Logan so that he had to lean on the wall in front of him to stay in a vertical position. 

“Fuck Remy!”

He gave a little laugh and then pushed one slick finger along his tongue into the tight passage.

Logan gave a strange sound between howl of pleasure and a growl of warning. He didn’t like the intrusion into his body but the other feelings were just too good to stop it. 

Remy didn’t wait for Logan to decide. With practiced ease he found his prostate and pressed hard. Logan screamed.

He gripped the other mans cock and gave him few short, hard strokes all the time pressing his prostate with nearly painful force. 

* * *

The sensation of the finger and tongue wriggling in him, the incredible, almost painful pleasure from his prostate and the skilled hand jerking him off pushed Logan over the edge so hard he thought he would pass out. His voice caught in his throat and his body shook with silent aftershocks. 

His knees gave up and he slid to the floor, still shaking, spilling over the thief’s hand and unable to even give the smallest sound.

Never in his life had he come so hard. It was nearly painfully, each muscle in his body contracting uncontrollably, the claws exiting and retracting in movements so fast, that it was nearly impossible to see them.

He lay there, on the floor of the Cajun’s room and panted heavily, only partly aware of hands gently stroking his back and his hair while a soft, husky voice soothed him, coaxing him back to awareness. 

He felt as if it took him forever to compose himself. He sat up and felt soft lips seeking entrance to his mouth. With a sigh he opened his mouth and cradling that auburn-haired head in his big hands he kissed Remy, pouring all of his wonder and gratitude into that kiss.

He felt the Cajun melt against him. He could also feel the unfulfilled desire in the kid.

Slowly he nudged Remy to undress and lay on the bed. When he was stretched nicely along the black, satin sheets he took his time in admiring all that beauty. 

The pale, lithe body lying gracefully on the slick material, long, pale legs parted slightly. Skin looking even softer than before, auburn hair spilled over the sleek black material. Chest heaving while red on black eyes watched him, hooded with desire and something more, something he couldn’t label right now.

The kid’s long, elegant cock was nearly lying across his abdomen, dark with want and frustration. By the way his body moved, Logan could tell, he needed only the slightest stimulation to come.

So he sat between that slightly parted legs and nudged them open with his knees. Leaning closer he kissed those parted lips briefly and started sucking at the thief’s neck, enjoying the moans he got in answer. He caught the wandering hands and pressed them flat over the kid’s head, making sure Remy understood to keep them there. He watched the kid nod and stretch a little more to grab the headboard.

 

He kissed and nibbled at the exposed flesh, careful not to give him enough stimulation to climax.   
He felt more than saw the kid throw his head back. He raised his head to watch that beautiful display. Head thrown back as far as possible, open, panting lips, closed eyes and body arching up into his touch.

Not thinking about his actions, led only by the strangest desire he reached one of his arms and put his rough hand on that delicate face, so that his fingertips were touching the closed eyelids feeling the frantic movement under them.

Ever so slowly he stretched and, still feeling Remy’s eyes moving under the eyelids, he bent down and swallowed that long, hard erection, already leaking pre cum, in one swift movement and gave him one hard suck.

He heard Remy scream as he came, arching his body upwards and spurting into his mouth. The kid whispered something in Cajun, while he thrashed uncontrollably. Logan kept licking the softening erection gently, knowing it would be over sensitive without his healing factor. 

When the kid finally came down, he crawled up his body and kissed him long, and sweet, making sure he touched every inch of that mouth. 

He pulled the covers over them and spooned the already sleeping Cajun.

* * *

Remy woke up to an empty room. Maybe it shouldn’t bother him. Maybe he should blame it on Logan’s habit of training early in the morning. If only … if only it wasn’t for that strange cold feeling inside his chest that something wasn’t right. 

Not wanting to panic, or make himself look like an idiot he showered, dressed and went to the kitchen to grab something to eat. 

The only person he met there was Scott, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. He could feel anger coming off him in waves. 

“Good morning, Remy,” their Fearless Leader said.

“Allo, Cher, what happened?” Gambit asked cautiously, not sure he was allowed to ask personal questions.

“It’s Logan,” Scott sighed. “That bastard came to me this morning and announced that he was taking time off. For two months! He could’ve at least informed me a little earlier! Not come to me with his bag over his shoulder and keys in hand!” Scott exploded. He wanted to say something more, but then he noticed the expression on Gambit’s face.

The usually pale face was now strikingly white, fingers clenching the door so hard the knuckles were white. Scott wanted to ask what was that about, but before he had the chance, the kid was gone. He wondered just what the hell was going on?

Remy ran back to his room and slammed the door closed behind him. He felt stinging in his eyes but refused to let the tears come.

“Bastard! Cul! Encule!”, he started swearing in both languages, furious and hurt. That God damned son of a bitch didn’t even say a lousy “thank you”. He just treated him like a cheap whore that could be fucked and then left without a word.

When his rage subsided there was only hurt left. He slowly sank to his knees and sobbed soundlessly. Of all people, he believed that Logan at least had some respect for him, even if not the warmer feeling he certainly had for the feral man. 

He hugged himself, wishing the night never happened.

TBC in “Black Roses”


End file.
